Substantial Ethereality
by Nyum Fwah Productions
Summary: Silence is a paradox. It means stillness. It means to inhibit, stamp down, subdue, curb. It means to calm down. It means to conquer, a refusal to speak when expected, also unable to speak, speechless. It means to quieten, shout down, and also to be quiet.
1. Ostensible Ocular Deception

Silence 

_The pouring rain sears the skin of the ones who are worthy of fortune and sin  
The blinding blaze scours the bruised fruits of an unholy desert_

I can hear the bells a'ringing in the courtyard of seven singers and all I can think is that I want to be in your arms

I can hear the quiet of the aching desert lonely in its everlasting repentance for its qualms

I never knew the people washing down the drain called the steeple that prayed for redemption from this gutter

I never saw the light of harmful sorrow that pushed its way through the slamming porcelain shutters, an inky adhesive that soon turns red

I never tasted pastries that were so sweet that they turned sour, clogging up anything else I could have reasoned for myself

I never heard the rushing waves of insecurity as music from a Timpani drowned out the elation of the band

I never heard the evil yowls of sinners preaching hate, except for when you tried to hold the rays of white within your hand

I'll never see something as beautiful as dancing glass, soft in its iridescence, blowing in the wind

I'll never know someone as fortunate as former sickly people, as they recall the things they have and what they have regained

I can touch the flimsy golden confetti that illuminates the darkest places, an metal anchor the ground, a feathery escape to the sky

I feel the things I can and cannot touch, for all we do is something in our brains, we wonder why.

_Copyright_, 2005; _A. Chouake_, _Kalliope_

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**I would love your thoughts, criticism, and/or analysis. **

**With all due respect,**

** Nyum Fwah Productions**


	2. Cliche' Freshness

Cliche' Freshness

Sometimes I wonder why the feelings I have don't overflow and burst from me in spurts of golden feathers

I know this feeling is eternal and I wonder how eternity can be as small as your hand, as mine clutches it close

I felt my soul changing as I looked into your eyes, knowing I wanted to be better just to see them light up with your smile

I feel cliche', like some old time movie actor, my suspenders holding my pants up, smoking a Cuban cigar

But things only become cliche' as people repeat it often, in their love of feeling original within electric fences, grazing by brother cattle

I feel new, like you're my factory, you've created me and done me over again, but I'm not sure if its an improvement

In all these poems, love is compared to the deepness of water and height of sky, but you are just you, unique to me and nothing else a part nature

I want you to see me for me and yet I wish to hide my natural fallacies that everyone else, including you, must have

And yet I find every wrong within you endearing, and it frightens me that I can't find any of your faults irksome

In all my life I've never felt this sincere before, it seems my glasses only work when I look at you, all else is blurry

I know that now I can't see you as a person, but an object, beautiful porcelain heavily guarded by museum security

Half of me hopes that this feeling will not fade, but I know that this isn't love, but mere admiration

One day I shall be annoyed by your quirks, and still will feel this peace of being in the same bed at midnight

And within that monotony, I hope that you will love it and me and hate my faults as much as I hate yours

**I would love to hear anyone's thoughts and/or criticism, so please leave a review. If you want to reach me in another way, you can email me at . I would love to hear from you. I hope you enjoyed reading this, and perhaps got something out of it . If you want to check out any of my stories, just click on my profile button ^o^. **

**With all due respect,**

** Nyum Fwah Productions  
**

**PS: The phrase "The pouring rain sears the skin of the ones who are worthy of fortune and sin. The blinding blaze scours the bruised fruits of an unholy desert," was made up by me. It is not a quote from somewhere else.  
**


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